


The Tanich Rose

by greygerbil



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Enthusiastic Kissing, Human Sith Warrior, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23510113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Cytharat is convinced the Empire will never trust him again, but someone has not given up on him yet.
Relationships: Cytharat/Male Sith Warrior
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	The Tanich Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asymptotical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/gifts).



Cytharat had been told that the flowers growing on the hillsides around the town of Reshya were Tanich roses, namesake of a warrior from an old local legend who had come here to retire and had used her twilight years to cultivate these curious plants. The blossoms on their thorny vines were a night-black colour interspersed with a few white petals that should have looked out of place but only added to their loveliness. He’d had much time to study these plants and other aspects of the local flora and fauna since coming to Reshya, the capital city of and in fact only settlement on Gelvan that was bigger than a few farms clustered together. There was very little else to do here.

Gelvan laid at the edge of known space and was sparsely populated by a good-natured, mild race of small, woollen creatures who were happy to give some part of the food they produced to the Empire in exchange for shielding them from the galactic war. Not that there was war currently happening in this sector and Cytharat doubted there would be until the Republic and the Empire had torn each to such small shreds that fighting about resources would literally come to mean fighting for the next meal. Gelvan had nothing to offer but its fertile lands and crops and there were still many worlds which were much more efficient at producing food.

Mayor Talbert had disliked him from the first step Cytharat had taken on this world. Likely as not he had realised that Cytharat would understand fast that there was very little to govern here, as the native aliens were both not prone to rebellion nor even seemed to care very much about the presence of the Empire one way or another, and that the mayor’s post was thus quite useless. It was a good job for anyone who wanted nothing but comfort out of their career. Cytharat was miserable.

Makeb had been too much to hope for, he had known that when he’d put in the request, but he’d at least hoped to be allowed to continue to prove himself. Instead, he had gotten this assignment, a wordless but decisive end to his career. Cytharat tried not to be bitter. It was better than being court-martialled as a traitor, though in truth the latter may have been a shorter and less humiliating process.

Still, if this was to be his task, he would do it well. Cytharat had managed to get it out of the mayor that there were sharp-toothed predators called garruks that sometimes came into the settlements, cracked eggs in their nests and killed small livestock. They rarely attacked the locals, but were of about the same size as them, which made them fearsome.

So Cytharat had been hunting the garruks, fighting animals that went up to his knee with a vibrosword. The locals had asked him to do so, as the lightsaber left burn marks on the fur and they always collected the bounty when Cytharat was done. To thank him, they had made him a cloak, which was a sown patchwork of several garruk furs and too long since they were not used to making clothes for outsiders. Cytharat thought it was a nice gesture regardless and the evenings did get cold.

As the days went on, Cytharat reminded himself often that he was not only lucky to still have any position in the Empire, but to have his very life, too. The sort of man you imagined to be the Emperor’s Wrath would have sacrificed Cytharat for the greater good. It was a death Cytharat had been willing to face, but he could not pretend that the Emperor’s Wrath’s mercy had not touched him. He wondered if perhaps the Emperor’s Wrath was the sort of person who valued good soldiers over other resources, which would have been flattering, or if the passion of the Sith may have swayed his decision in Cytharat’s favour, an even more pleasant thought. He had spared the planet, too, though, so maybe Cytharat had nothing at all to do with his decision and he would have made it for any living soul. Perhaps, much like the Tanith roses, there were a few flecks of light within the Emperor’s Wrath that only left Cytharat more fascinated and sadder that their acquaintance had been so short, without even one chance for a private conversation. Now that he had made the connection in his head, some sentimental spark made him pick a few of these flowers from time to time. He took them back into town to let them dry on his nightstand. When he slept, he could still smell them.

Soon enough, there were almost no garruks close to the settlements around Reshya, as they had been scared away by Cytharat’s ruthless campaign. He still patrolled, though, since it gave him a sense of duty to have something to do other than watch Mayor Talbert grudgingly pretend to work as they sat in the command central, which had one room with two desks and no windows.

The wind was icy as it blew in his face this night. There was no pollution at all on Gelvan as it had been left almost untouched by all but the most basic agrarian technology. Trees as high as the sky flanked the unpaved way, making Cytharat feel as if he stood no taller than the locals. Above him, the firmament was a perfect black cover dotted by stars like shimmering diamonds. Looking up from here, you could believe there was nothing beyond it but ancestor spirits watching the world, which was what the local tales said. As the wet earth smacked under his boots and the wind whistled in the leaves, he felt like he would never go home again, nor did he really know where that would be at this point. He was lost in the forest, in the night.

A thudding sounded behind him through the silence, soft but insistent. Cytharat pushed the vibrosword into the sheath on his back and reached under his fur coat for his lightsaber. There were greater beasts on this world than garruks, usually peaceful, but pain or fear could confuse all animals.

What came bounding out of the darkness instead was a tauntaun with stirrups and reins, its high head and curled horns obscuring the rider. Cytharat stood baffled, lightsaber hilt in hand, as the tauntaun came to a sudden halt beside him and the rider vaulted off its back.

“Lord Cytharat! You’re hiding from me in the furthest corner of the galaxy, and here out in the wilds! A man might think you’re trying to avoid him!”

The Emperor’s Wrath was a mountain of a human, with curly hair that Cytharat had never seen in any state of order and just a hint of black darkening his skin around the eyes and lips where most men of his position and power would have been entirely covered in marks of the Force. His grin was toothy like a snarl and his hazel eyes wide and wild. Cytharat had always thought that he looked innocently proud and dangerous in the same way a majestic but deadly beast did.

“Mighty Wrath?” Cytharat asked, for he could think of nothing else to say. To see the Emperor’s Wrath standing here in the middle of nowhere was bizarre, making him wonder if he’d slipped into some lucid fantasy.

The Emperor’s Wrath wrapped him in his arms and kissed him and it was every bit as exhilarating as the first time even though Cytharat was not brimming with adrenaline and dizzy with blood loss now. The tight grip on him and the cold skin on his own assured him this was reality.

“Come,” the Emperor’s Wrath said, “let’s get off this rock. Unless you have something left to do here?”

Amidst his confusion, Cytharat dug through his thoughts to find a proper response worthy of a tactical advisor.

“I don’t think so, but if one soldier with decent blaster aim is stationed here, it will do more good for the locals than the mayor.”

“We should see to that,” the Emperor’s Wrath said.

He jumped onto the back of his tauntaun again and pulled Cytharat up behind him. The animal tittered briefly before it raced along the way it had come, mud flying under its feet, and Cytharat wrapped his arms around the Emperor’s Wrath.

Leaving the planet that had felt like a prison was suddenly very easy when the Emperor’s Wrath demanded it. There was a brief goodbye to the mayor and a quick sweep of Cytharat’s accommodations to put his meagre belongings in a bag. All in all, it took half an hour and Cytharat didn’t think he had spoken more than ten words by the time they ascended the Fury’s entrance ramp. The Emperor’s Wrath had come in like a storm and swept him out of his exile like a maiden in a tale. When he stood in the main hall of the Emperor’s Wrath’s ship, he was still draped in the fur coat, which was adorned with twigs and dry leaves from where it had dragged along the path he had walked through the wilderness.

A blue twi’lek stuck her head out of a doorway down the hall. Cytharat remembered her vaguely as the woman who had trailed behind the Emperor’s Wrath on Makeb, occasionally making a comment to him under her breath, but keeping her distance from the troops.

“Oh, _this_ is why we came here,” she said, throwing a bemused glance at the both of them. “Now it makes sense!”

“Hush,” the Emperor’s Wrath answered, grinning.

“No, seriously, I have to learn to kiss like you, my high lord and all that,” the woman told Cytharat. “One peck and this guy went to organise a search party for you.”

“The rest of my crew is asleep. Maybe in a few hours you can meet someone who has manners, unlike Vette.”

Though there was a growl in his voice, the Emperor’s Wrath sounded more exasperated than angry and Vette just smirked, though her expression sobered quickly.

“I’m just saying, we haven’t exactly been lucky with these stiff Imperial types – no offence.”

“Cytharat isn’t loyal to Darth Malgus anymore and who else would he betray us for?” the Emperor’s Wrath asked. Cytharat heard there was a story behind the words loud and clear, though he did not know it. Someone here had misused their trust. “I think he’s proven on Makeb that he’s for the Empire first.”

“I guess. Well, I’m not talking you out of this one, anyway, I can see that. I’ll go catch some sleep,” she said, towards Cytharat, “since Kallan couldn’t even wait out the rest slot to take us planetside.”

With that, Vette pulled back her head and was gone. Cytharat found himself momentarily stunned by the lack of decorum that had ruled over the conversation, but it was clear that the Emperor’s Wrath took no offence to her casual way of handling him. She had hardly ever seemed like an Imperial soldier and not just because twi’lek were rare among them, so apparently the Emperor’s Wrath had allowed a friend on the ship. Of course, she had shown on Makeb that her fighting prowess made such an appointment much less unusual than it could have otherwise seemed.

Perhaps Cytharat’s indignation was also tempered by the teasing Vette had directed at her superior, which all had served to stoke Cytharat’s hopes.

“Don’t you want to take that cloak off? It’s not that cold here.”

“Yes, Mighty Wrath,” Cytharat said quickly, torn from his contemplations.

He slid the cloak off his shoulders, revealing the somewhat mud-splattered but more appropriate Imperial garb underneath.

“It’s Kallan to people who are on my ship.” The Emperor’s Wrath halted. “If that’s where you want to be. I’m going to set you down at Vaiken Spaceport if you’d like that better. I’m sure I can pull some strings to get you somewhere more exciting than Gelvan.”

It seemed that it only now occurred to the Emperor’s Wrath that he may have acted at all rashly this night.

“I would stay on your ship if you let me – Kallan,” Cytharat said, feeling daring to speak so informally. “And it is not only to avoid Gelvan that I do so. I would give up a post on Dromund Kaas just as easily.”

This was all hasty and ill-thought-out. Yet, serious contemplation had not saved him from following Darth Malgus down dark paths and overthinking had led to him getting only that one kiss from the Emperor’s Wrath on Makeb because he had been so anxious to prove himself dutiful and proper that he’d not dared to lean more into his flirting. He was Sith, was he not? It was not their way to squash all feelings. His heart told him to do this and damned be reason.

The Emperor’s Wrath grinned broadly.

“The crew has bunk beds, but you’ll wake the others climbing over them. Want to head to my cabin instead?”

“Gladly,” Cytharat answered. He could imagine no other place where he could better chase the pervasive cold of the Gelvan night out of his bones.

With a decisive pull, the Emperor’s Wrath tugged Cytharat closer. It left his fur coat, which was hanging over his arm, slipping sideways. A Tanich rose fell to the ground out of one of the deep pockets. Automatically, Cytharat bent to pick it up. The crushed petals gave off a sweet, earthy smell.

“What’s that?” the Emperor’s Wrath asked, cocking his head.

“It was something to hold on to,” Cytharat answered and gently pushed the flower pack into the pocket before he turned into his embrace. “But now I do not need it.”


End file.
